Invisible Hearts
by Kymaera
Summary: Loneliness is a hard thing, and these two have had more than their fair share in their short lives. How much longer will it last? (Neville/Harry)


Author's Notes: This is for my Bestest, without whom my life would consist of the barren, white padded walls of the nearest mental institution. Thank you for my sanity and for your excellent beta-ing and for making my Neville sound human. I love you and don't despair too much. The next five months will pass just as quickly as the last and I'll be home before you know it. 

  


Disclaimer: Not me. Definitely Ms. Rowling and probably a bunch of others. 

  


Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Neville/Harry 

  


Homosexuality is touched upon. Don't like. Don't read. 

  


Comments, Questions, etc: mzumwinkel@yahoo.com

  


*****

  


Invisible Hearts

  


*****

  


Neville lay in the darkness, thinking. Around him he could hear the light snores of his four roommates as they slept. Glancing over at the clock on his nightstand, Neville heaved a sigh. Nearly midnight. 

  


Oh, he'd _tried_ to fall asleep with everyone else. He _wanted_ to fall asleep, the gods knew he was dead tired. But he just didn't seem to be able to get his mind to stop _thinking_. 

  


_What did you expect?_ a quiet voice, the self same one currently denying him sleep, echoed through his mind. _That's part of the reason you're so tired in the first place, silly._

  


Neville sighed and rolled onto his stomach, shoving his pillow away and cradling his head on his arms...

  


...shifted onto his side, pulling his feet up towards his chest...

  


...flopped over on to his back, kicking away the twisted bed covers and starring up into the canopy...

  


...decided he was cold, rearranged both pillow and blankets, and stared at the meagre contents of his nightstand. 

  


_I wish I dared light a candle or_ something, _since it's obvious I'm not going to be getting to sleep any time soon. _But he didn't dare because a light would almost surely wake one, if not all, of the others. And Neville couldn't bear the thought of being faced with all their concerned questions. _Gods, that's the last thing I need. At the focus of even that small amount of attention, I probably wouldn't be able to stammer out a plausible excuse, let alone the real reason. I'm so pathetic. _

  


Neville had learned several years ago that--unlike Harry, Hermione and Ron (and every other Griffindor he could think of)--he _always_ did better when helping from the sidelines. He found that whenever he was at the centre of attention, it meant that he had said or done something wrong and people were going to stare, point and laugh. 

  


Oh yes, he'd learned his lesson. And once he stopped trying, things started getting easier. He started watching his fellow schoolmates instead. At first, he watched them and tried to understand what made him so different from the rest of them. What made everything so easy for them and so difficult for him? 

  


But, after a while, he found that he truly enjoyed watching the people around him. Watching their interactions. Watching their conversations and expressions. And watching for the signs he had come to learn meant 'help.' Because, in all his observations, he had learned that no one really had it easy. And while he still didn't know what to do to help himself, he could help them, because he could listen.

  


Sometimes, he felt that was the only thing he could do. 

  


Now, going into the sixth year, he couldn't count the number of times he'd helped a fellow classmate or Griffindor through a hard point in his or her life. If he ever thought about it, he might realise that he knew more about his schoolmates than almost anyone else. 

  


But he didn't think about it. Didn't want to think about it. All he wanted to do was help, because he knew that he could. Their secrets, big or small, were safe with him. 

  


_'I mean, c'mon, Neville, who are you going to tell?'_

  


The words reverberated insidiously through his mind. He had been sitting in the library one evening when a first year Gryffindor had come looking for him. He recognised the boy, James, from a few weeks ago when he had found him sobbing in one of the stalls in the Griffindor bathroom. If he remembered correctly, James had just received a letter that morning saying that his dog, Max, had run away two days ago and no one had been able to find him. 

  


Neville sat in the bathroom for an hour, listening to James and consoling the poor boy as best he could. Heaven knew he understood what it was like to lose a pet.... 

  


But he was pretty sure that the whole thing had been resolved the next day when Max came trotting through the front gate, filthy and smelling of dead fish, but very much alive and well. So he was just a little confused when James came up to him and asked if he had a minute. 

  


_'Sure,' Neville replied, setting aside his text book and gesturing toward the seat next to him, more than a little curious. 'What's on your mind? Is everything okay with Max?'_

  


_'Oh, yeah, everything's fine.' James smiled.. _

  


_'Then why—? Is something else wrong?' Neville was getting more confused by the second._

  


_'Oh, well... sort of... um... not really?' James looked nervous__. 'Nothing big like loosing Max. I just... well, it felt so good to talk to someone who actually _listens_ and I was wondering...' he trailed off, glancing at Neville uncertainly. _

  


_'You... you want to talk to me?' he asked incredulously. James nodded. 'Um...' _

  


He wasn't sure what to do. Normally, when he noticed something was wrong, he went and found the person and asked if they wanted to talk or needed someone to listen. It had never happened the other way around. Ever. 

  


'Well, okay. But... why?'

  


He would never forget the look of happiness on James' face when he agreed... or James' answer to his tentative question.

  


'Why?' James thought for a moment. 'Because you listen_. That, and I know I can tell you_ anything_. I mean, c'mon, Neville, not that you would anyway, but who are you going to tell?'_

  


James would probably never know how much those words had stung. 

  


He had sat and listened to the boy until James had talked his problems out of his eleven-year-old system, but he couldn't concentrate. James' answer kept running through his thoughts and distracting him. 

  


Oh, he knew that James had not been _trying_ to hurt him, as some others might have been. No, Neville had watched him enough to know that he was a kind-hearted boy, if occasionally too blunt. And, for one who had spent so much time observing people, Neville couldn't mistake the sincerity that had shone in his eyes as he said it. 

  


But that knowledge didn't stop the words from cutting him to the core. Because they were true, and it reminded him of just how alone he really was. 

  


Since that day in the library he had managed, most of the time, to push James' answer and it's implications to the back of his mind. And, as life continued at Hogwarts, James was not the only person who came back. There very weren't many, but he always was willing to set aside time to talk to anyone who asked. 

  


But despite that fact, when their lives were going smoothly the people he spent his time helping seemed to forget his very existence. His closest acquaintance was Hermione, simply because she had spent so much time helping _him_... with school work. 

  


But as nice as she was, and as much as he appreciated her help (most of the time he wasn't sure he would have made it this far _without_ her patient assistance), outside of the library or the classroom, she too seemed to look right through him. Of course, it didn't help that she and Ron were finally starting to figure out how deeply they cared for each other. 

  


Bitterness and longing welled up inside him at the thought, as much as he tried to quell both. Oh, he wasn't bitter about the two of them together. He'd forced himself to get over his crush on Ron years ago, when he'd first realised how much he cared about Hermione. 

  


And now that Ron was finally figuring this out for himself... he couldn't be more happy for them. 

  


But that didn't stop him from wishing, with all his heart and soul, that he could find someone to love him the way they were learning to love each other. 

  


_Someone to love me._ _Is that too much to ask for?_ _Someone who might understand._ _Would_ want _to understand. _

  


_But not for me. Never for me. _

  


_No one can love me. Not my parents_, Neville would have laughed at the absurdity of the thought, if it didn't make him so sad._ Not my Aunt... no one. _

  


_I will always be alone._

  


Neville curled into himself, his heart aching. 

  


He wished again that he dared light the candle not ten inches from his face. 

  


_Somehow, it just doesn't hurt as badly in the light. They say you can't miss something you've never had, but they're wrong. I would give anything for someone who would just hold me and listen to_ me _for a while._

  


_Anything._

  


But wishing for things that were so obviously out of his grasp wasn't going to keep him awake in potions tomorrow. He rolled over and closed his eyes, attempting to silence his thoughts and fall asleep. After all, there was always tomorrow night. 

  


*****

  


Harry glanced across the room to where Ron sat with Hermione, their heads together as they 'seemingly' poured over the text book in front of them. Ron had 'supposedly' gone over to where Hermione sat to ask her a question about their Charms homework. 

  


Of course, if one looked closely, one could see that they weren't really looking at the text at all. The 'question' Ron had claimed to have was just his excuse. Both he and Harry (and probably Hermione) knew what his real motives were. But while Ron still needed an excuse for his actions, Harry would support him and, if necessary, pretend to believe him. 

  


He smiled as he looked at his two friends together. It was very apparent, at least to him, that they cared deeply for each other, although Ron wouldn't believe him if he said so. Ron was still nervous and unsure about the whole situation. It had taken him until the beginning of, this, their sixth year, to (_finally, _Harry thought with amused exasperation) admit that he 'liked' Hermione. 

  


_'Of course you do,' said Harry, feigning innocence at Ron's whispered confession. 'I like her, too. She _is_ our friend, after all.' He struggled to keep a straight face as Ron glared at him, the tips of his ears pink with anger and embarrassment. _

  


_'You...you know what I mean!' Ron said, his tone conveying his frustration at the deliberate way Harry was misunderstanding something that was so very hard for him to say. 'I... I...lo—' Ron's voice faltered. He cleared his throat and tried again. 'I.. I'm... in l, lo—' He sighed angrily and looked around for something he could take his frustration out on._

  


_Harry backed out of reach, as subtly as he could. _

  


_Finding nothing satisfactory, Ron gritted his teeth and spat angrily, 'I_ like_ her, dammit! As m, more than a... a friend.'_

  


_The last was said with such uncharacteristic reticence that Harry immediately regretted his behaviour. He moved quickly to sit beside his friend, throwing an arm companionably around the taller boy's shoulders._

  


_'You're right. I do know what you mean. I didn't mean to be so light-handed about it.' Harry gave Ron's shoulders a comforting squeeze, before standing again._

  


_'So,' he said, looking down at Ron thoughtfully, 'you 'like' Hermione.' Ron winced at hearing his recent revelation flow so easily from Harry's lips and nodded, refusing to meet his friend's steady gaze. 'Well, now that you've gotten around to admitting it, what do you plan to _do_ about it?'_

  


Harry remembered with a smile the way Ron's head had snapped up in surprise at his words. Ron had been so focused on denying his feelings for Hermione and hiding them from himself that he didn't realise how much his every action broadcasted his affection... to those who knew him well enough to notice. Harry had known for some time that Ron at _least_ fancied Hermione, if nothing else. 

  


And he wouldn't be at all surprised if Hermione had also figured it out... probably long before Ron started being more obvious about how he felt. 

  


As he sat watching his two best friends interact, Hermione looked up and caught his eye. She winked deliberately and smiled at him before returning her attention to what Ron was saying. 

  


Harry grinned. Oh, she knew alright. And if Harry was any judge of the situation, she was just waiting for Ron to get up the courage to say something to _her_. Harry could only admire her patience. 

  


He looked back at the books in front of him and attempted to concentrate on his own studies. Unbidden, a sigh that was part contentment and part wistful longing slipped past his lips. 

  


Contentment, of course, because his two best friends were so happy. Longing because he wanted so badly to experience what they now shared. 

  


Happiness. Affection. Love.

  


Such simple things. And yet most of his life had been barren of them all. That _had_ changed for the better the day he turned eleven and had learned the truth about his identity and his past, but all through his childhood he couldn't remember wanting anything more. 

  


Even with the second class treatment he received at the Dursley's, it had been several years before he had finally given up hope of ever receiving anything resembling love or encouragement or pride from his Aunt and Uncle. And, although Dudley had been too much of a bully, even as a toddler, for Harry to even bother trying, he had started his first few years of elementary school with the hope that he might finally find _someone_ who wanted to do more than make fun of him. 

  


Meeting Ron on the Hogwart's Express had been one of the best days of his life. In Ron he had found the brother and friend he had always longed for. Not to mention the love Molly and Arthur Weasely so willing bestowed upon him. Eventually, Hermione came into the mix, as well as Sirius Black, for which he would be forever thankful... even if Sirius wasn't quite free to take the place of the parents he had lost so long ago. 

  


But as wonderful as those relationships and connections were, he still hungered for more. He wanted to experience the love that he saw shining in his parents eyes whenever he looked through the album Hagrid had given him. He wanted to experience what he watched Ron and Hermione grow closer to every single moment they were together. 

  


They were so perfect together. Even if they (Ron) couldn't see it, Harry could. They balanced each other in almost every aspect of their lives. Their personalities, their actions, their strengths, their weaknesses... everything. They were similar enough to understand each other and different enough to still have things to learn. 

  


And Harry would have given almost anything to experience that for himself.

  


But where did he start looking? And should he even try? Ron certainly hadn't been looking for Hermione when he realised that he had found her. 

  


_If only things were that easy_, Harry sighed resignedly to himself. He had learned years ago, however, that, contrary to popular belief, things were very rarely simple for him.

  


He sighed again and glanced at the clock on the mantle. Nearly ten o'clock. Judging by the few meager, half-hearted sentences on the parchment in front of him, and the fact that he had spent the last half hour or so with his head in the clouds, Harry decided that he wasn't going to be getting much more work done this evening. 

  


As he packed up his things, he spared a glance at his two friends. They were still sitting close, although it appeared that the book, and the pretences that went with it, had long since been put aside. 

  


Harry had no idea what they were discussing, but he was pretty sure they wouldn't miss him if he slipped off to bed early. _They probably wouldn't even notice if the castle came down around their ears_. Harry smiled at the thought. 

  


A few years ago (less than that, if he were honest with himself), this fact might have made him jealous. But that was before he realised Hermione was better off with Ron. ...Or that Ron was better of with Hermione. Harry shook his head. _Two years and I still can't figure out who I wanted more__... _

  


Pushing the old and still slightly confusing thoughts from his head, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed towards the stairwell. At the doorway, he turned and waved good night (just in case they weren't as out of it as he suspected), and slipped up the stairs.

  


******

  


Neville looked up in surprise as the door of the dorm was pushed open and Harry walked slowly into the room. He didn't know which was more intriguing: that someone else had decided to come up to the dorm room tonight, or that that 'someone else' was Harry. Curious, despite his wish to be alone, Neville watched the other boy as he dropped his bag at the foot of his bed and sat down heavily; completely unaware that he wasn't alone. 

  


Something was definitely amiss with his dorm mate, Neville decided. Despite his experience at observation, however, he couldn't quite figure out what. Based solely on Harry's body language, Neville would have guessed that the dark-haired boy was merely tired and wished to turn in early—but that ran contrary to almost everything he _had_ observed about Harry. And now, the way Harry stared unfocused at the ground, or the way his face was almost _too_ calm, as though he was deliberately trying to keep his expression from showing his feelings, lead Neville to believe that Harry was more than merely tired.

  


Not that Harry's face ever really betrayed much of what he was thinking. But Neville was fairly certain that was due to the environment in which he had lived before coming to Hogwarts, and was therefore largely subconscious. What could be on his mind that he would try consciously to keep it from surfacing? 

  


If that was even what he was doing.

  


Neville sighed. He'd learned a lot about people these last couple years, but there were still some who could completely throw him—Harry more than most. Neville flushed slightly. He's spent more time than he was willing to admit observing his dark-haired classmate and trying to figure him out. He'd learned that Harry was intelligent, honest, brave (sometimes foolishly so)... and one of the most subtle people Neville had ever seen. Almost nothing Harry did could be taken at face value, which, even though it made him that much harder to understand, only made Neville more curious. So Neville was pretty sure something was bothering Harry, but he had no clue as to what. Well, whatever it was, Neville had at least enough experience to know that it would be better for the other boy to talk about it. Nothing was ever gained by keeping things bottled up inside. 

  


_You really should listen to your own advice, sometimes,_ he scolded himself, before pushing the thought to the back of his mind. He wanted to, very much, but he couldn't very well talk to himself and— No, there were more important things right now than wallowing in self-pity. Like helping Harry, if he could. 

  


'Harry,' he said softly, not wishing to frighten the other boy. He'd learned early on that people tend to react badly if he wasn't careful how he announced his presence and pulled them from their thoughts. 

  


Harry, it seemed, was the exception (not that this surprised Neville greatly). At the sound of his name, he turned to face Neville, nothing about him betraying even remote surprise at finding that he wasn't alone.

  


'Oh, hallo, Neville.' Harry's voice was low and quiet, but nothing else about it conveyed the emotions Neville was sensing. Or thought he was sensing. But before Neville could dwell too much on that, Harry continued. 'What are you doing up here?'

  


'What do you mean?' The question took Neville by surprise. Wasn't he supposed to be the one doing the inquiring? And, despite the commonplace politeness of the question, was that just the slightest hint of genuine curiosity he heard in Harry's voice? He quickly dismissed the thought. Why would Harry care?

  


'It's just kind of odd, that's all.' Harry shrugged. 'I know that you don't tend to spend a lot of time in the Common Room—not that I blame you, it _is_ pretty chaotic most nights—but I thought you usually went down to the Library in the evenings.' Harry gave Neville a searching look. 'Is something wrong? Are you feeling okay?'

  


Neville was dumbfounded. _Someone noticed me._ The thought sent little tendrils of hopeful warmth tingling through his body. _And not just any someone, but_ Harry. _Harry Potter, easily the most popular guy in our class, noticed _me_. And what's more, he actually seems to care._ Neville smiled slightly. _Maybe—_ he thought, his breath catching, _maybe he'd be willing to listen, too. ...But can I tell him? Do I have the courage to hope he'd understand?_

  


Neville knew, of course, that it didn't _really_ matter if Harry understood. It wasn't as though he was looking for a solution to his problems, just a willing ear and an open, non-judgemental mind. But Neville couldn't read Harry well enough to be certain of either willingness or understanding, and he didn't want to risk telling Harry the truth if one or the other weren't there.

  


And, if he thought about it, he really couldn't expect Harry to understand. How could he? How could Harry, always in the middle of things and never seeming out-of-place or ill-at-ease, understand that Neville didn't feel as though he belonged? How could Harry, with so many friends, comprehend how Neville lay awake every night, wishing he had even _one_ real friend to talk to and spend time with? No, it was better not to say anything. 

  


_But,_ his logic protested, _if there's no way he'd understand, why is he up here too, seeming rather 'ill-at-ease' and_ without _his friends? Just because he_ seems _happy, it doesn't necessarily follow that he_ is. 

  


Neville considered that for a moment and then, deciding there was only one way to really know, turned to Harry and asked, 'Why are _you_ up here tonight?'

  


Harry started slightly at the sound of Neville's voice. When Neville hadn't answered his question, he had assumed the blonde didn't want to talk about it and had lost himself in his thoughts. 'I'm sorry, Neville, what was that?' 

  


'I was only wondering what brought you up here tonight,' Neville replied. 

  


'What do you mean?' Harry knew it was a little early, and even though he had never done it before, surely it wasn't _that_ uncommon for someone to be up in the dorm room now.

  


'Well, Sixth Year curfew isn't for another,' Neville glanced at the clock on his bed stand, 'fifty minutes. I'M up here early more often than you might think, and I've noticed that, most of the time, everyone stays down in the Common Room as long as possible. And _you're_ usually one of the last one's into the room, with Ron right behind you.' Neville paused for a moment. 'Ron and Hermione wouldn't have anything to do with why you've been acting so weird lately, would they?'

  


Harry didn't know what to say. He hadn't really expected an _answer_ to his question, maybe just a shrug and a mumbled 'I don't know' that was so common from the shy blonde boy, but not an answer. He certainly hadn't expected the observant, confident explanation he had received. Nor the astute questions that followed it. He sat staring at Neville for some time, attempting to process what he had said. 'Weird?' he finally managed to choke out. 

  


'Well, maybe 'weird' is a bit strong,' Neville replied. 'Nobody would really notice the difference unless they were paying attention. And even then, I wasn't sure. You're entirely too subtle for your own good. But in any case, you have been acting a bit odd recently.'

  


'I... have?' Harry could hardly think straight. He couldn't remember the last time he had heard Neville string more than two sentences together at a time, or actually _look_ at someone when he spoke to them. This boy sitting across the room from him was so completely different from the Neville he thought he knew. 

  


'Yes,' Neville replied, seemingly unaware of Harry's confusion. 'For the last few months, at least, which is why I asked if it had anything to do with Ron and Hermione getting together. I mean, your two best friends are starting to figure out how much they care for each other and, naturally, they want to spend a lot of time together. People, when they're first in love, always do. But I think you know that already, because I'm pretty sure you've been giving them a little more space recently. 

  


'It's just that when you give them space, you usually go off by yourself. I keep expecting you to join Dean and Seamus or one of the other groups that's always in the Common Room, but you almost never do. And now you're up here early, which makes me think that something is wrong, except I can't tell if there really _is_ a problem or if you're just tired and wanted to turn in early.' 

  


As Harry watched the blonde boy sitting across from him, he slowly realised that _this_ was the real Neville. Shy and quiet in large groups, yes, but apparently extremely observant and more intelligent than his poor grades reflected. Harry wondered if anyone else knew, if anyone else had bothered to look past the withdrawn, clumsy exterior to see how Neville had changed in the last few years. He thought not. He certainly hadn't. 

  


And so he looked, _really_ looked at Neville as he spoke. He was expecting a difference, yes, but he was still surprised at what he saw. The blonde boy hadn't gained too many inches, but he would be taller than Harry when standing. And what he had gained in height, he had lost in pounds, although his face still retained a boyish softness, which gave him air of innocence. But, if he looked closely, Harry could see a wisdom in the sparkling brown eyes that belied the naïveté of Neville's appearance. And the transformation that a genuine smile and a confident posture gave him.... Harry didn't think Neville would ever be handsome like Ron and Seamus or delicately beautiful like Malfoy, but he _was_ attractive in his own quiet, earthy way. _How is it that no one else has noticed this?_ Harry wondered, before returning his complete attention to what Neville was saying and just in time to catch his last question. 

  


'Something wrong?' Harry repeated. He looked out the window at the star-studded sky. 'I guess that depends on your definition of 'wrong'.' Harry didn't like to be so vague, but his new revelations about Neville had him wondering how much he should, and could, tell the other. Before this evening, he would have laughed at the idea of telling Neville anything. He hadn't even told his two best friends what was on his mind, why should he tell a mere acquaintance. But now? He honestly didn't know. He looked across to Neville's bed, curious to see the blonde boy's reaction.

  


...Neville wasn't there. 

  


'Well,' came Neville's voice from the foot of Harry's bed. Harry turned to see Neville standing by the bed post, as if waiting for Harry's permission to sit. Harry, too astonished to do anything else, moved over to make room for his dorm mate. As Neville made himself comfortable against the foot board, he continued, 'Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, and I'll see if it fits my 'definition of wrong'.' 

  


Neville was very pleased. He'd been worried that Harry wasn't gong to answer him, and that he'd been wrong in his assessment of the dark-haired boy's emotional state. But Harry had answered, vaguely, but affirmatively. And what's more, he hadn't rejected Neville's approach. A lot of guys their age would have been uncomfortable sitting on the same bed with another guy, even in the most innocent of circumstances. He knew that he had surprised Harry a little with his more direct behaviour, and he half expected to be roughly dismissed when Harry came back to his senses. When Harry started speaking again, Neville relaxed and quietly let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. 

  


Slowly Harry started to tell Neville about being unable to concentrate in the Common Room this evening and how his thoughts had wandered. At Neville's polite inquiry, Harry explained the situation with Ron and Hermione—most of which Neville knew, but he wasn't about to stop Harry to tell him that—and how confused he was about it. The last surprised Neville. 

  


'Confused?' he asked. 'How so?'

  


'Well, they're my best friends and I know I should be happy for them now that they're finally figuring things out. And I _am_ happy for them, but at the same time....'

  


'You're jealous?' Neville supplied cautiously. 

  


'I supposed I am.' Harry sighed. 'They're so happy together and when I see them I can't help but wish I could find someone too. Sometimes....' Harry looked away, before continuing softly. 'Sometimes I just feel so lonely.'

  


'Lonely?' Neville didn't understand. Harry, who seemingly had everything, felt lonely? _I know that no one has it easy, _Neville thought,_ but Harry is the_ last _person I would have every expected to say he was lonely. I've missed something... but what?_ 'Why?' he asked, letting his curiosity get away with him. 'You have so many friends and people who love you—' Neville stopped, realising he had overstepped his bounds. 'Harry, I'm sorry.'

  


'No, you don't have to apologise. You're right. I _do_ have a lot to be thankful for and it's probably selfish of me, but... I just wish that I had someone who really understood me. Someone who'd be willing to look past the scar and recognise that I've got it just as hard as anyone else. Everyone always assumes that, because I'm "Harry Potter", my life is nothing but cake and roses. No one, not even my friends, sometimes, ever seems to remember that I've suffered too. I lost my parents before I even ever got to know them and because of that I'm forced to return to my own personal hell three months out of every year. No one—' Harry stopped suddenly, blushing. 'I'm sorry, Neville, I shouldn't have gone on like that. I'm sure you don't care and... well, yes, I'm sorry.'

  


'No.' 

  


'No?' Harry asked, confused. 

  


'No,' Neville tried again, trying to find his voice. 'D, don't be sorry. I do care. You can't imagine how much. I just never...'

  


'Never what?'

  


'I have to admit,' Neville said quietly, almost to himself, 'I'm guilty, too.' He sighed and shook his head. 'I couldn't figure it out. Couldn't see what is was that didn't fit. But that's it, and I can't believe that I didn't see it until now.' 

  


'Neville, _what_ are you talking about?' 

  


'I'm sorry, I'm not making any sense, am I?' Neville said. Harry shook his head and Neville sighed. 

  


'What did you mean when you said you were "guilty too"? Guilty of what? And what were you trying to figure out?'

  


_Oh gods, where to start?_ Neville thought. _Try the questions he asked, stupid, _ he reprimanded himself. He took a deep breath. 'I'm "guilty" because I had also forgotten that you'd suffered. I was also thinking from the assumption that you have things relatively easy because your problems aren't the kind that tend to surface daily or even weekly. As for what I was trying to figure out…' Neville closed his eyes. 'You.'

  


'Me?' Harry asked, and Neville just nodded. He opened his eyes again to see Harry watching him, confusion and curiosity shining in those piercing green eyes. 'But why?'

  


Neville wondered again how much he could tell the other. _I might as well start at the beginning and see where that takes me,_ he decided. 'I watch people.' Harry raised his eyebrows at the statement, but didn't say anything and Neville continued. 'People in our house and in our classes. Sometimes people in the rest of the school. I've been doing it for a long time now and I've learned how to recognise the signs that mean "help". And when I see the signs I go to the people and offer to listen, if they're willing. Sometimes that's all anyone needs.'

  


Without hardly another thought, Neville went on to explain to Harry _why_ he had started watching people and all the fears and worries that went along with it. Even, eventually, the loneliness. He couldn't quite comprehend what had caused him to suddenly share so much of himself with his dark-haired dorm mate, but it felt _so_ wonderful to finally have someone to listen to _him_ and he didn't think he could have stopped if he wanted to. 

  


Harry watched Neville with growing respect as the other boy spoke about his struggles to find a place in the Gryffindor Community and his loneliness and his family situation. Harry already knew a little about the last from his conversation with Dumbledore after the events of the Triwizard Tournament, but to hear Neville's perspective on it—the quiet acceptance in his voice brought tears to Harry's eyes and an unfamiliar and unexpected desire to reach across the few feet separating them and wrap his arms around the other boy in comfort. Having no parents at all was hard, but Harry thought that Neville's situation must be harder. To have his parents taken from him—_after_ he was old enough to remember_—_but to still have them around physically, where he could reach out but they would never, ever reach back… that would be much, much worse. The courage that Neville must have to go on living and caring and hoping every day… and yet here he was telling Harry that he didn't belong in Gryffindor. 

  


As he listened, Harry realised how easily he could have been in Neville's place. If he hadn't met Ron on the train, these last several years would have been very lonely indeed, despite the fact that he was 'The Boy Who Lived'. After those first few days, it would have taken him some time to believe that anyone he met actually wanted his friendship and not just his notoriety. 

  


Even now, he almost did find himself in that position. With Ron and Hermione getting together, who did have to turn to? Not that his friends would ever abandon him or shut him out, but it _was_ often awkward and with only the three of them he was feeling more and more like a fifth wheel. 

  


And then, randomly, there was Neville. The boy he was now ashamed to admit he'd always half looked-through, as though he were a statue in the corridor or a painting on the wall. Just something that was always there. But after their conversation this evening, he would never be able to see him that was again. Behind that quiet, shy exterior was an intelligent, observant, caring young man who had been very hurt in his past and still found the courage and strength to go through life with his head high—even if no one bothered to notice. 

  


And then Neville began to explain how Harry had been one of the few people that, until this evening, Neville just couldn't quite figure out. Something had been growing between them as they talked, shimmering and vaguely defined, but undeniably there. As Neville told Harry the revelations he'd made about him during their conversation, and as Harry heard how close they were to his own revelations about the other boy, the last pieces fell into place and the vague feelings solidified into a definite connection. Neither was quite sure what it meant, but as they looked into each other's eyes in the sudden but calm silence, they both knew the other felt it at well. 

  


The moment passed and Harry, without a second thought, began to speculate how long it might take Ron to finally get up the courage to admit his feelings to Hermione. Neville responded with a very believable impression of Ron stumbling through the admission that had Harry practically rolling with laughter. He'd never expected that he would have anything in common with Neville, but he found it just as easy (or easier) to talk to him as it was to talk to Ron or Hermione. Their conversation flew from topic to topic with such speed that Harry' head was spinning, but at the same time, it was unusually clear. Harry found he was enjoying himself immensely. 

  


Just as they were getting into the subject of Muggle music, the dorm door burst open and Ron came running in, grinning from ear to ear. 

  


'She said _yes_!' he crowed, and took a flying leap onto his bed. Harry grinned and out of the corner of his eye he could see a small smile gracing Neville's lips and amusement shining quietly in his eyes. 

  


'Who, Ron?' Harry asked, although he already knew the answer. He'd put up with Ron's indecisiveness long enough to deserve to hear the good new from Ron's own mouth. 

  


'Hermione,' Ron sighed, taking the question at face value. 

  


'So you finally told her?' Neville said quietly. Ron didn't seem to notice that it that it wasn't Harry who asked. 

  


'Yeah. And you know what she did?' He sat up excitedly. 'She _kissed_ me!' If possible, his grin grew wider. 'Only on the cheek, but that still counts, right?' He looked over at Harry, not seeming particularly concerned one way or the other. Harry just laughed and nodded. 

  


Ron sighed happily and lay back again, staring up at into the canopy of his bed. Harry smiled and shook his head before turning back to Neville again. Just as he opened his mouth, however, Ron sat up again and looked over at them, as if noticing for the first time that Neville was sitting with Harry on Harry's bed. 

  


'Have you been there the whole time?' he asked Neville, confusion showing plainly on his mobile features. Neville just nodded, still smiling slightly. 'Oh,' Ron said and shrugged. 'Okay.' Then, switching tracks with a speed Harry had only ever witnessed in a Weasley, Ron jumped to his feet and declared, 'I'm going to go wash up. Any one else?' He looked at both of them, eyebrows raised. 

  


'Yeah,' Harry replied, standing and stretching. 'Just let me get my things.' Harry moved over to his wardrobe and Neville leaned his head back against the bed post and closing his eyes. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He'd thought that he and Harry had made some headway towards a real friendship this evening but it seemed as though that had dissipated the moment one of Harry's real friends had shown up. He heard the door shut and he sighed. Seemed he'd been forgotten again. 

  


'Neville?' His eyes snapped open in surprised and he looked over to see Harry standing with one hand on the doorknob, his hand towel around his neck and an expectant expression on his face. 'Well, aren't you coming?'

  


Neville grinned and stood up. Quickly gathering his things, he followed Harry out the door, feeling happier than he had in a long while. Maybe this time it would last. 


End file.
